


Miles To Go

by prumneos



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, mindscape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13463451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prumneos/pseuds/prumneos
Summary: Ford takes a look into Stan’s mind the night after Bill is defeated.





	Miles To Go

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Stanuary, Week Four.

A beach, strewn with pine trees. A house, childlike in its simplicity, like it had been sketched in crayon. And two children to greet Ford, their hands reaching for his, their faces indistinct but their clothing as iconic as Ford would expect, here. Ford let them take his hands and lead him up the winding path to the house, which was absent of signage and bluster. The back porch led directly to the sea, where a swing set was occupied by two indistinct silhouettes.

Ford didn’t let himself linger. If he did, it would only distract him from the goal at hand.

Dipper squeezed Ford’s hand as he opened the door.

Laughing shadows skittered down the hallway and up the stairs. The house was—tiny. More simplistic, even, than Ford would expect from a young child. The stairs, Ford discovered, led nowhere; the hallway led to two rows of doors. Mabel and Dipper stayed close.

“Can you talk?” Ford asked them, as an afterthought.

“Sure can,” Dipper said. But it was in Stan’s voice, not Dipper’s. Ford would rather not risk the chance of Stan realizing what Ford had done.

He returned to the living room and settled down in the armchair; Mabel and Dipper crawled in next to him. “Remember?” Mabel whispered. “Don’t you remember?”

“He will,” Ford said. “Give it time.”

-

Ford emerged, gasping, from Stan’s mind.

By the time he realized Dipper was loitering in the doorway, there was no use hiding his face. He smiled weakly at the boy and wiped his cheeks dry.

“How is it?” Dipper asked. 

“Not bad,” Ford said. He shifted to sit against the chair, his arm pressed against Stan’s leg, and opened an arm to Dipper. 

He dropped next to Ford like a wounded animal, but he relaxed as Ford rested his arm over his shoulders. “How is it really?”

Stan snored above them. Even with his self wiped, he was a better actor than most people would expect. He'd told the kids he remembered just about everything before sending them upstairs; a more accurate estimate would be that he now remembered who he was. That was more than Ford had anticipated when their plan first formed. "Better than I expected," Ford admitted, tentatively. "The building blocks for the rest are all there." He squeezed Dipper's arm; he wasn't quite sure if he was trying to comfort Dipper or himself. "You and your sister should be proud."

"Will it stick?"

There was no way to tell. Even Fiddleford hadn't gone that far. But Ford smiled down at Dipper and patted his shoulder. "All the evidence points that way. And no good scientist ignores evidence."

Dipper toyed with Stan’s slipper, tugging at the frayed bits of fluff. “What if...” 

“If nothing,” Ford said, with a definitive slash of his hand. “He was willing to save us at any cost, Dipper. And I am going to return the favor. Understand?”

Finally, a smile crossed Dipper’s face. “We all will,” he said. “For as long as we’re here, anyway.”

“See? Nothing to worry about. Not with you and your sister on the case. Now...” Ford patted Dipper’s back. “Get to bed. There’ll be much to do in the morning.”

Dipper hesitated—and then, to Ford’s surprise, leaned up and gave him a quick hug, his slim arms tight around Ford’s neck. He stood before Ford could return the gesture and fixed the blanket around Stan’s shoulders. With one more tired smile and wave, he stepped through the doorway and up the stairs.

Ford sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. Easy enough to be optimistic in front of Dipper—but they had a long road ahead of them.

Before he could dwell on it, a voice drifted sleepily down to him. “Sweet kid,” Stan said. “Worries too much.”

“Yes,” Ford said, without lifting his head. “We’re lucky to know him. And his sister. You remember their names?” 

“Mabel and Mason,” Stan mumbled. “Lotta trouble, the both of ‘em...” He yawned and settled a little deeper into the chair.

Ford almost stood to usher Stan upstairs into a proper bed—but when he caught the relaxed smile on Stan’s face, thought, well—what was the harm in letting a hero get the sleep he deserved?


End file.
